


What exactly are soulmates?

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: ALL-CAPS WORDS, Angst, Other, Pain, Sadness, Soulmates, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes you looked at your arm and wondered just exactly why soulmates existed.





	

Sometimes I look at my arm and wonder, "Should soulmates really exist?"

I mean, for some pros, they stop people from going off the deep end. From, y'know, hijacking a plane filled to the brim with propane and flying it straight into the cliff. You just needed the two to look at each others arms, or pecs or whatever, and then they had someone true to stand on.

But even with that, even though soulmates have existed since cavemen, we still don't know much about soulmates. Scientists have been researching who knows how long, and us humans keep creating more things to experiment on. And don't forget the fact how literally everyone is COMPLETELY FUCKING DIFFERENT in this way. I have met thousands of people, lemme tell ya. I've seen people with names, colored names, names and dates, the first sentance ever spoken to them by the soulmate, and even just colors. Some strange cases have also been recorded about feeling the other soulmate's emotions, feeling pain if the soulmate (or just the soulmate's name/color/f. sentance) is injured, first seeing color when first seeing their soulmate, having soulmate n/c/fs appear later into the bearer's life, even body swapping.

Another plus side is that when we created Youtube or social media, we learned that something as simple as seeing a face on a screen could make a big enough soulmate bond that it counted as meeting the for the first time. I'm pretty sure that's how Jack and Mark found each other. My god their story probably gave the world enough salt water from tears to replace normal tap for about six months. They're so cute together. I'm happy the god of soulmates, actually it's probably a receptionist, didn't give two shits about gender or race or anything else. It's probably like the Great Wall of Shippings up there. Other people, however, aren't so happy about the gay.

Which brings me to my cons. For one, the annoying names. Everyone figured out long ago that there are waaay too many John Smiths in the world to figure out which one's yours. Only in some cases do you feel a change when you meet your soulmate. So as a coping mechanism, every parent began giving their children crazy names. Did you know my best friend's name is Mustard? It's okay, he apparently loves the stuff and says that his mom gave him a nickname in advance. Just another couple fallen astray to the crazy-name syndrome. The dude's sad his partner isn't named Ketchup though. Mustard's gonna make him change his name to Ketchup the second they meet. I know it. I second this decision.

Another problem is how we live. We've basically become dystopian. There's no "America" anymore, there's no "Country." No one "rules" anymore. We're slowly being pushed back together, and until then we've created humongus bridges with thriving pit stops and cheap-as-shit planes to search for the one we "love." To some, fuck that, they can come to me. Others have both exploring and they stay on separate sides of the world and never meet. And then, of course, the big problem of the soulmate rejecting the other due to gayness or color, even though those things don't really matter anymore.

And then there's the blanks. The people that never get names tattooed by Jesus. They're the outcasts, as soulmates run our society. Some may become playboys and prostitutes, or they find fake love among each other. Others don't give a fuck and are actually really happy they never found love. They spend their days running through towns naked or being flat-out drunk while writing random names all over their bodies with sharpie and crying.

And I look at my arm and wonder, would the independence and laws be better than what we have? Would the hatred and cheating and crying and fear and abuse and suicide notes be better than knowing you're supposed to love and cherish the abuser or the rapist or the drunk? Would searching endlessly for love only to die alone be better than knowing upfront that no one cares, or waiting desperately for a mark never to find one?

I'm overcome with pain, and I double over. And a voice in my head tells me things in a voice I know I'll hear soon.

I hate your name, I hate your nickname, I hate how you don't get angry at anything, I hate how you try to stand up for yourself, I love how you smile when bullied and abused, I know you don't care about yourself secretly, I love how you're so depressed, it's like you know I know that you don't matter, I want you to know that you're a worthless, useless human being. I hope you die. It's all your fault, and I know you think I'm just a replacement. 

And then I choke on my breath, because I'm sobbing and curled up and my arm feels like it's on fire and when it leaves I look at the two arms side-by-side. One arm shows a name, faded like the nonexistent partner they used to be before the unspeakable. On the other arm is a new name, cut with jagged strokes, blood dripping down my arm. I heard a quiet voice whisper, "opposite day . . ." Before fainting.

Yes. Yes, it would be better.

A few years later, I walk out of my therapist's room. It was hard to recover after I broke, but I was so happy the second my eyes opened again in the hospital and I was still alive. Sure, recovery was a bitch and I was prescribed pills for my "problem" and now I can't travel out of "state" for a long time, but I didn't fuck up as royally as I thought. I was still alive, and that's what mattered.

I go in a daze for a bit, thinking, and I accidentally bump into someone. Their coffee spills onto my shirt and they start apologizing profusely and I just laugh and offer to get them a new one. They say they can't, and I notice a little stutter that I think is a bit cute. I ask where they're going, and they mention the therapist I was just at shyly. We talk for a bit and then we walk back from where I came. They say they don't want me to bother for another coffee, it's okay.

When they come back out half an hour later on the verge of tears, I'm standing at the doorway with coffee. I ask them why they need therapy, and they say it's complicated, and I can only agree. We talk for a bit longer until we see the time. An awkward goodbye happens and then he leaves, and only then I forgot to ask for the most important question: their name. I shrug and move on.

A year later I finally see what "opposite day," meant. That the insults were lies, and just needed to be said backwards. 

No, no it wouldn't really-

Oh, screw it, I have no clue.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so a bunch of angsty shit happened in my life and in response I threw this up. Becuaee any fandom lover hasn't wondered this before.


End file.
